Page 152 of Jinxes and Drumsticks

“I’m never bored hanging out with you, sweetheart,” I say. “You know I love lazy nights with you.”

“I don’t mean... I don’t mean right now,” she says, her brow creasing with a frown. “I mean... overall. Eventually. You’re going to be tired of me being stuck here.”

I shake my head. “No, I’m not—”

“You are,” she says, her expression turning tragic. “I’m... I’m starting to think I’ll never be free of this trap. That I’ll never be able to leave the house, even. I’ll have to be a recluse.”

“Then we’ll move to The Buried City. I’ll retire with you and be your little kept man while you spend your days charming all the vampires and fae lords, and I’ll make every effort not to be eaten while you’re away at work,” I say.

“I hate that those are your options. Option. Just the one.”

“Baby, I was ready to leave my band today,” I say.

“Music is as much a part of you as magic is a piece of me,” she says. “You can’t just amputate that piece of you.”

“Lillith, I just... All I want is to be with you.”

“That’s really easy to say this early on. When I’m still fun and new and interesting. But I can’t let you just—”

I grab her chin, pressing my thumb against her lips. “Stop,” I say. “What did I tell you a few weeks ago?”

Her hooded eyes meet mine, flickering as she seems to try and remember.

“You cannot. Pregame. This shit,” I say. “You cannot break your own heart early to try to avoid being heartbroken later. And unless you have worked some magic you didn’t tell me about, you also can’t tell the future or read my mind.”

“I don’t want to take music away from you,” she says, her throat sounding painful and tight. “It would fucking ruin you.”

I smooth my thumb over her cheekbone before leaning in to kiss her. It’s soft and slow and I try to put all my love for her into this quick, stolen moment. Try to make her feel it in her bones. When it ends, I brush my nose against hers, catching her silvery eyes. “Some people are worth being ruined for. You are worth being ruined for.”

She lifts her hands, wrapping them around my wrist. The wrist where that red band marks me as hers. The little piece of herself that she gave to me, the one I want to keep forever. The one I want to look at when I’m old and fucking ugly and still just... taken with her.

“I wouldn’t survive losing you, Damien,” she whispers, real tears gathering on her lash line and spilling onto my hand.

“You never will,” I promise her. “Not even if you try to kick me out of your life. I’ll be an annoying fucking thorn in your ass.”

I hope that it will make her laugh, but it doesn’t. She drops her eyes from mine.

“Where is this coming from, baby?” I ask, lifting my other hand to wipe her tears away with the broad edge of my palm.

“I don’t know,” she says, her breath hitching. “It just... feels like something is coming. I don’t know what it is. But my gut just... I feel it, Damien.”

“Maybe you’re just a sad drunk, baby,” I say, forcing myself to smile despite the way that admission tangles in my gut. “Maybe you just... feel blue, and that’s why it feels that way.”

Her long lashes are wet, clinging together like spiders’ legs. She doesn’t look convinced, but she nods anyway. “Yeah,” she says softly. “Yeah... Maybe you’re right.”

“Come on, baby. Let’s try to cheer up, yeah? I don’t want to think about you being so sad while I’m so far away,” I say. “How about you tell me about that mind-blowing-phone-handjob you plan on giving me. Hmn?”

She finally cracks a smile. “If I tell you now, it’s not going to be mind-blowing over the phone.”

“No?” I ask, smoothing my hands down to her neck, bracing my thumbs on either side of her windpipe. I feel the roll of a swallow against my palms as she finally looks up at me, a faint flush already forming. “How about a game then?”

“What kind of game?” she asks, clearly intrigued, if not skeptical.

“Let’s see how many times I can make you come before our delivery driver gets here with your mountain of carbs,” I say.

It’s a shitty copout. I know it is as I lay her down on the couch and devour her again. But I’m a useless asshole. And I’m good at very few things. And I really would do anything I could not to have to think about how sad she looks right now as our plane takes off from LAX tomorrow evening.

I would do anything to ignore the feeling tangling in my gut.